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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494680">sing me another love song</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyaulte_me_lie/pseuds/loyaulte_me_lie'>loyaulte_me_lie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Old Guard (Movie 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Birthday, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Joe and Nicky Being Ridiculous Too, Morning After</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:55:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,953</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494680</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyaulte_me_lie/pseuds/loyaulte_me_lie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nile’s one-hundred-and-fiftieth birthday is a memorable one.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>133</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sing me another love song</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is just cute Nile fluff because she deserves all the good in the world and yeah, that's it, that's basically it. I was supposed to be taking a break from writing but The Old Guard and my brain have killed all hope of that - oh well! The title comes from Joan Armatrading's song Love &amp; Affection which is gorgeous and I especially love the cover that <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qRCyU3Gqm5k"> Shingai sings</a>.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Accra, 2144</strong>
</p><p>“Happy birthday Nile!”</p><p>Nile leans back against the pillows, props her tablet up against her knees. Nicky and Joe are crammed together on the faded russet sofa that sits on the terrace of their yellow house in Portofino, their faces illuminated by watery golden light. She can hear the sea washing against the jetty in the background. A spider-plant trails spindly babies into Joe’s curls, and Nicky is clutching an enormous mug of coffee; Nile is surprised that he’s up and functional at this time on a weekend, is touched that he made the effort.</p><p>“Quynh would be joining us,” Joe is saying, “but she stabbed Nicky with one of those knives you gave her when he tried to turf her out of bed, so I’m afraid she’ll have to Zoom you when she’s decided to stop being feral.”</p><p>“That’s ok,” Nile says, grins at the mental image. Quynh does oscillate between terrifying competence and behaving like the world’s oldest teenager, though none of them begrudge her for it. None of them begrudge her anything after what she’s been through, after what she’s lost. It doesn’t stop any of them being amused by her antics, however, and they all smile at each other for a second before Nicky reaches his fingers out as if he can touch her cheek through the screen.</p><p>“A whole hundred and fifty years old,” he says. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Fossilised. I swear, there was this teenager in the street today trying to convince me to update my VR implant. And then he tried to hit on me by giving me his VR plugin code and I was like a) get back in your cradle you <em>infant</em>, and b) why do people not use <em>phones </em>anymore?”</p><p>Nicky laughs. “It gets worse from here on out, sorellina.”</p><p>“Reminds me of the time we discovered that someone had invented bicycles,” Joe says. Nicky rolls his eyes, takes a loud and derogatory slurp of coffee, which only makes Nile want to hear the story more. She’s known them over a century and still their stories of what, to her, is ancient history is one of her favourite things about being immortal. She leans forward, pastes an expression of guileless innocence onto her face.</p><p>“Please, Joe, do go on.”</p><p>“So we were in London, in what – 1882, I think. Just got a drink after a meeting, minding our own business and the next thing I know Nicky is on the floor and this man riding a massive metal wheel is weaving down the street yelling “dreadfully sorry old chap.” I nearly pissed myself laughing.”</p><p>Nicky frowns, over-exaggerated, playing along. “It came out of <em>nowhere.</em>”</p><p>“No, you just weren’t paying attention.”</p><p>“Neither were <em>you.</em>” Nicky sighs, put-upon. “I don’t know why people had to invent the horrible things.”</p><p>“He’s never forgiven them,” Joe says in a stage whisper, and Nicky puts his free hand on Joe’s cheek, tries to shove his face out of the camera but just ends up spilling coffee all over himself.</p><p>“That explains a lot,” Nile says, suppressing laughter. It’s lovely to see them in such high spirits after a string of missions that went from bad to worse to genuinely horrific. And this revelation does explain Nicky’s hatred of bicycles. She’d always figured he hadn’t bothered to learn how but this is much more in character - he’s the kindest and calmest of them, but boy does he know how to hold a grudge.</p><p>She waits for them to be done playfighting, glances down at where Booker – Sebastien, as he’d insisted last night – is curled on his side, still fast asleep; she resists the urge to reach out and pull her fingers through his hair, to rest them against his shoulder, to check that he’s still solid, still here, that yesterday wasn’t just a figment of her imagination. He’d shown up on her doorstep late last night with wine, flowers, and takeout from her favourite restaurant down by the seafront. She’d stared at him, every heartbeat amplified until it had felt like a boom-box from her childhood going off in her ears.</p><p>“You’re supposed to be in Santiago,” she’d said.</p><p>“Yeah, well,” he’d shrugged. “Not anymore. Are you going to let me in?”</p><p>She’d stepped back, still reeling, forcing all the feelings she’d been sitting on since he came back from exile into the locked box where they belonged. She’d phoned him last week when she’d got off her last solo mission, sat in the safehouse here with her feet hanging off the balcony. He’d listened to her cry and rant about the unfairness of it all, about how the world never seemed to get any better, to how she wishes she didn’t have to bear witness when she couldn’t stop it but that bearing witness feels like the only right thing to do. When she’d run out of words, he’d just stayed there, breathing with her, thousands of miles away and terribly close, all at once. And then he’d been there, right in front of her face, all half-smiles and slightly longer hair she wants to get her hands into and that stupid denim jacket he likes because it used to be Andy’s.</p><p>They’d eaten the takeout and drank far too much of the wine and then Sebastien had put Joan Armatrading onto the speakers, and Nile had had to confront the fact that they were the only two people in the world who knew that Nile’s parents used to dance around the kitchen to this song, Nile and her little brother getting in the way under their feet. She’d been drunk enough to let him convince her into a dance, too. His hands had been warm and big and careful on her elbows, and then her hips, and they’d whirled round and round the apartment, barely in time with the music. He’d been laughing, open and happier than she’d ever seen him before, and that’s why she’d drunkenly followed him into the kitchen when they’d taken a break for pudding and kissed him. They’d eaten ice-cream and kissed some more and ended up in bed and after, he’d pulled her close and said: “Just for the record, I really like you.”</p><p>After a second, she’d whispered back: “Yeah. I like you too.”</p><p>He’s stirring now, blinking at the noise and the light washing through the curtains. “What…” he starts, rubbing a hand over his eyes.</p><p>“I <em>was </em>going to ask what you’re doing to celebrate but it appears that you’ve already <em>been </em>celebrating,” Joe’s voice echoes from the tablet, arch, and Nile flushes.</p><p>“Guys,” she says, before one or both of them can lecture her about operational security, “he’s asleep.”</p><p>“Not anymore I’m not,” Sebastien says rustily, sitting up and yawning. Nile had never even considered using the word ‘adorable’ to describe him, but in the glow of morning he is – all messed up hair and pillow-creased cheeks. His eyes linger on her face for a second and then he smiles at her, properly, the way she’d never thought he even <em>could </em>smile. She feels the thrill of it right down in her toes. Her younger self would have been horrified by the ridiculous romance of it all, but a hundred and fifty years have taught her to take whatever good she can and hold it close.</p><p>“Oh <em>hello,</em>” Joe says, delighted in a way that can only mean trouble.</p><p>“Is that <em>Booker</em>?” That’s Nicky now, and when she glances back down at her screen their faces are very close, comically smushed together and eyes wide. Her cheeks are suddenly burning; Sebastien’s ears look like small forest fires have been set alight in them. This isn’t the way she thought she’d tell the others – in fact, she hadn’t even thought of telling the others full stop – but they don’t seem anything other than absolutely gleeful, so she supposes that it’s not going to cause too much drama.</p><p>Sebastien clears his throat, manages to sound very unbothered by the entire situation. “Morning, guys.”</p><p>“Good <em>morning,</em> Booker,” Nicky says. “How <em>are </em>we today?”</p><p>Nile considers defenestrating the tablet, and then decides against it. Unfortunately, it has too much sensitive information on it to let it loose on the streets of Accra but the thought is very tempting.</p><p>“Good morning, Nicky.” Sebastien replies.</p><p>“Have you two been having <em>fun</em>,” Joe continues. Thankfully, he turns to Nicky before they have to answer that question. “Nicky, habibi, you owe me.”</p><p>“Guys!” Nile protests, but Sebastien appears completely unconcerned, wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer into his side.</p><p>“Do we want to know?” he asks.</p><p>“Nicky thought the two of you would take way longer to get your shit together,” Joe says.</p><p>“You <em>knew</em>?” Nile stares at them, glances up at Sebastien who just pulls the smallest of faces back down at her. She thought she’d hidden it so well. She knows she’d no idea that Sebastien felt the same about her, no matter how much she’d hoped and dreamed in the quiet, secret hours of the night.</p><p>“Of course we knew,” Nicky says, reverting back to patient-older-brother voice quicker than a blink. “The pair of you are about as subtle as one of those awful American musical productions.”</p><p>“At least they didn’t murder each other forty-seven times,” Joe muses.</p><p>“At least there’s that,” Nicky agrees, and Nile wants to bury herself under the covers and not come out for a <em>week. </em></p><p>“I hate you both.”</p><p>“No you don’t,” Joe says, smiles, then waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “We’ll let you get back to your birthday celebrations, shall we?”</p><p>“I’ll tell Quynh to phone you tomorrow instead,” Nicky adds.</p><p>“Have fun.”</p><p>“Stay safe.”</p><p>“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”</p><p>“That means anything, then,” Sebastien says but they’ve already gone. He slides back down against the pillows, pulls Nile with him and they both lie in silence for a second, contemplating the last five minutes of their lives.</p><p>“I’m going to murder both of them,” Nile says after a second. “It will be very therapeutic.”</p><p>“What have you got in mind?” Sebastien asks, tracing little circles up and down her spine under her t-shirt.</p><p>“Set a micro-speaker to play 21<sup>st</sup> century musical theatre on a loop and hide it in their room,” she says, unhesitating. “Mail them a glitter bomb. Set up a booby trap involving custard and slime.”</p><p>“Remind me <em>never </em>to get on your bad side,” Sebastien says fervently, and Nile laughs, presses closer. He smells like grapefruit aftershave, like new beginnings. Hard times will come again. She knows this. There will be times when she wants to break down into molecules and float away on the wind, times when she’ll want to set the world ablaze with her fury. She’s still fucked up and jagged, still grieving the life that might have been, grieving Andy, grieving the family that birthed and raised her, but this is the thing. She doesn’t have to do it alone anymore. Not in the way she thought she would. Sebastien gets it too.</p><p>“I could stay here forever,” he says. She leans up to press kisses against his jaw, another and another and another, until he shifts to kiss her properly, hand coming to rest on the dip in her waist. Look at us, she thinks, two deserters from time making out in an apartment on the top of a glittering tower block in a city holding back the sea. The poetry of it all is enough to make her head spin.</p><p>“We could, if we wanted,” she murmurs.</p><p>“Tempting.”</p><p>“I could be more tempting if you wanted.”</p><p>“You could,” he says. “But I like you just as you are.”                         </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorellina (Italian) - little sister. Come and scream at me on Tumblr:@if-fortunate!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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